


A Price to Pay

by not_here_leave_a_message



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Also I know some people will want to know this before clicking on the fic:, Angst, Bittersweet, But like my others this fic does get heavy, Established Raylla, Established Relationship, F/F, Future Fic, Happy Ending, I don't even know how to tag this so bear with me., I think the best way to describe it is it's a bittersweet fic so just be aware of that., Just to mix it up a little., Pregnancy, Raelle's the pregnant one in this, They're married and they're pregnant, past trauma, there's also fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_here_leave_a_message/pseuds/not_here_leave_a_message
Summary: No one would ever know - if Scylla could help it - the true sacrifice that had gone into the little miracle growing inside of Raelle.  The hours of research, the days of trials and weeks of failures and frustrations, and the years (goddess, the years...) of trying, to get them to the point they were at.  Blood, sweat, and tears, but...they'd made it.  They had made it.But there had been a price to pay for that little miracle, and, well...Scylla had paid it.A Raylla pregnancy fic that no one, least of all me, expected me to write.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 37
Kudos: 128





	1. The Price

**Author's Note:**

> ...I don't know where this fic came from. I definitely meant to post it two days ago but forgot lmao. The muse came back to me after finishing Buried Deep and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this, so...here we are. I still kind of genuinely can't believe I wrote it, but like in an odd way I'm pretty proud of it. It's definitely more of an AU feel in the sense that I feel like it goes a bit against fandom grain, but it is supposed to be set in a possible future for Motherland so I'm not tagging it as an AU, though obviously that's subject to change as more seasons come out and more things become canon. 
> 
> That said! It's here now and we can all thank Holeybubushka for reading this fic over and encouraging me to say "fuck it" and post it anyway. It's definitely different than my normal stuff so we'll see how you all like it. *shrug*
> 
> There is ONE warning I need to give you guys, and that is that Chapter 2, while important, does get dark. Nothing happens to the Raylla baby: it's actually an event from the past that Scylla's still dealing with. Chapter 1 helps set it up but Chapter 2 delves into it and the gruesome details. Chapter 1 and Chapter 3 are mostly fluff: just Raylla and being pregnant and happy, so if you want to skip Chapter 2: totally understandable. I'll put more specific warnings in the Chapter 2 notes and a brief summary in Chapter 3 for anyone who decided to skip Chapter 2 to sort of get the gist of what they missed. That said, the darkness of Chapter 2 is there for a reason and adds a certain and specific depth to the rest of the story. 
> 
> I do also want to say that this fic was partially inspired by a chat on the Motherland Fort Salem Research Institute discord in which pregnancy and witch culture and witches during pregnancy were discussed and got my brain going a million miles an hour. Though we don't know much about witch culture surrounding pregnancy, we do know that witches are a bit more relaxed with gendered roles and what exactly constitutes a family (we know that Abigail has multiple fathers, for example), I definitely had some fun sort of imaging how the culture may be. 
> 
> I think that's it! From what I've seen, fandom seems pretty enamored with the idea of pregnant Scylla but like...idk man sometimes my brain goes "Okay but consider-" and that also helped partially lead to this fic. 
> 
> Hope you guys like it, at any rate!

_She doesn’t know._

It was the only thing that Raelle could think, and try to convey as she leaned back where she sat, looking up at her wife and trying to catch her eye. 

Scylla’s gaze was carefully neutral, the same small smile on her features she’d had when she’d first walked out, drinks in hand. The difference was that now…it didn’t reach her eyes. Raelle could just feel the sudden tension in her body. 

Raelle hated it. She knew how much it still affected Scylla…and how much Scylla tried to pretend it didn’t. Despite the time that had passed – just a few months shy of a year since it all happened – Raelle knew that it still hurt Scylla. Hurt her deep. And Raelle didn’t like to see her wife, the love of her life, in so much pain. 

Raelle had known it would be worse than Scylla seemed to think it would be. She’d known it. She’d known, because she knew Scylla. She knew that as much as Scylla may have denied it, her maternal instinct had been strong. She knew because despite herself, Scylla’s face would always light up at any discussion of their future children. Would light up at the very thought of a positive pregnancy consultation. Of _Scylla’s_ positive pregnancy consultation.

But in the end, it hadn’t been Raelle’s decision. Raelle was only one-half of the equation, and her pleas fell onto a stubborn mind that had already decided, no matter how much she’d humored Raelle’s concerns. 

In the end, Raelle loved Scylla, and she knew that all that Scylla had done still weighed heavily on her shoulders, so Raelle knew that, really…she couldn’t stop her. Not with redemption being a tempting fruit dangled before her. But Raelle had known it wasn’t going to be good for Scylla. She knew it was going to hurt her. She knew that some part of Scylla would likely come to regret it, however quietly, however fleetingly. And Scylla would bottle it up inside of her. 

It was just who she was.

That didn’t make any of the actuality of what happened any easier. That didn’t make it any easier to console Scylla as she sobbed, after it was all said and done, thin white lines on her abdomen the only testament to her quiet suffering. To her quiet sacrifice. Her penance.

Raelle carefully traced down Scylla’s wrist before intertwining their fingers, pulling Scylla’s hand to her lips and kissing it, looking up again at her as Scylla finally looked down. 

_She doesn’t know._ Raelle thought. _They don’t know._

Raelle didn’t know if Scylla received the message: the quiet reassurance she tried to convey. Their connection was strong. Their bond, unbreakable. But even they weren’t quite on par with reading each other’s minds. Even when strongly linked, mind-reading was…well, quite simply, not possible. Minds were not books. Thoughts were never concrete. Only memories and feelings could be properly transmitted, and so she tried to project one of soothing. Of calm support.

Of love.

Scylla sent Raelle the smallest of smiles, as though she understood what she wanted to convey, though the tumult remained in her eyes, and she squeezed Raelle’s hand. 

“-so I’m just saying it’s presumptuous of you to have just assumed that Scylla would be the one carrying their baby, is all!” Tally finished her point, and Abigail scoffed. Neither woman seemed to have intuited the small moment between Raelle and Scylla, and Raelle was secretly grateful for that. She told her unit almost everything, but there were truly some things that were only for her and Scylla to know: there were some things that weren’t hers to tell, and this was simply one of them.

The unit knew the basics. How many times Raelle and Scylla had tried, and how no attempt had stuck. How even Fixers couldn’t figure out what the problem was: what was causing every single try to end before it even had much of a chance to begin.

And that was all that Raelle’s unit needed to know. 

The rest was no one’s business but Raelle’s, and Scylla’s. 

“Okay but even just looking at them, it’s pretty obvious that Raelle’s the ‘man’,”

“Hey!” Raelle laughed, turning back to her unit and breaking some of the tension. Still, she subtly returned Scylla’s hand squeeze as her unit looked at her sheepishly. 

She felt her wife relax behind her, which helped her relax a little more as well, settling back into the cushions on her chair. 

“Sorry Raelle, but like of the two of you it’s obvious who radiates ‘fatherly’ energy, so to speak, you know? I know you’re both women and that’s the point and all, and like Byron is also obviously a man and a fatherly figure, but like. Of everyone in your house right now, you’re the butchest. It’s not an insult, it’s just fact. Yet you’re the most pregnant,”

“I’m the _only_ pregnant person in this house, Abs,” Raelle reminded her, finally bringing her drink to her lips. Scylla had brought them out to the back yard for them. Three cocktails, and one mocktail for the one who was with child, which still tasted sinfully good as she finally took a sip through the metal straw. She couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips, nearly just as sinful, which had Scylla stiffening behind her again, though for an entirely different reason. 

Before Raelle could toss her head back and look devilishly at her wife, Abigail snorted.

“Jesus, need us to leave you two alone?” Abigail teased, taking a sip of her own drink. “Okay, fuck, I get it, these are amazing,” Abigail said, eyes widening. 

“So good, please have Byron send me the recipe, I don’t know how the hell he makes such good cocktails. Anytime I try, I end up with something that tastes vaguely like rum and coke. No matter what ingredients I actually put in it…” Tally winced slightly. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you do that,” Glory laughed, taking a sip of her own drink while Tally shoved her playfully where she sat on the lawn. 

They were all out in the (honestly pathetic) back yard of Scylla and Raelle’s government-issued house. Compared to what she’d had in the Cession, it was pretty abysmal, but Raelle would take having at least some kind of yard over the dull grey bricks of the barracks from her time in the Army. 

With the exception of Bellweather, none of them were technically, willingly, in the military anymore: indeed, there wasn’t much of a military to be a part of. The dark days of Conscription were behind them, and what remained of the armed forces were slowly being reworked, rebranded, redone. Abigail, with her military legacy, was the only one still entrenched in the institution by choice. Scylla, unfortunately, still had a contract: a special officer under the secret team only titled “Ghost Corps”. She wasn’t allowed to talk about her job, but Raelle knew she loathed it. 

The rest of them were part of Conscripted Witches-to-Civilians Mass-Transition Program, which meant that, for the moment, they were provided basic necessities. A paycheck, mostly. They were temporarily taken care of by the federal government, until that ran out, in a few years. Until the transition was declared complete, and they officially severed all ties with the institution: free at last.

The house had been for military families in the past, and in many ways, Raelle supposed it still was, considering Scylla was still part of the military, technically. Indeed, it was likely why they still had their home, and would have it for several years once Scylla was officially switched to Inactive Duty and then, into the Transition Program as well. 

Raelle knew that still being obliged to the military after fighting so hard to take it down also did her wife’s mental health no favors. After Spree and the military had formed an uneasy alliance all those years back, Scylla’d ended up with a renewed military contract, much to her chagrin, and certainly against her will. But, under pressure from both Spree and the military to sign it, she had. 

And it was a harsh contract: doubling her years of required service, but it assured her survival in the event that the alliance between the two organizations dissolved, which it only partially did. She’d still be allowed to work between the organizations, serving as a go-between who was protected by potent Work so that neither side would be able to torture her for information. Even linking proved fruitless. It was…a new type of Work, that she had helped spearhead with Izadora. The lack of connection when linking, and those who could perform it, had come to be called “ghosts”. 

Scylla was one of several leaders (reluctant as she was) of the Ghost Corps, one of the last to be disbanded by the military, because they needed to record how the Work…well, worked. 

Raelle knew that Scylla loathed it with her entire being. Not because it was research – Scylla rather liked research – but because it was research for the military. Thankfully, by the time their child would be born…Scylla would be reaching the end of her Active Duty contract. She would be free. They would be free. Excepting some unforeseen catastrophe, but Raelle had seen enough catastrophe in her lifetime, and she didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of more.

At the very least, though…they weren’t continuing the matriline for the Motherland, anymore. This child would be in no way obligated to the military, what remained of it after full reforms. This child…was for herself. Was for Scylla. Was for them.

Raelle hadn’t always wanted kids, but she’d been resigned to the fact that she would be having at least one. She’d never really thought of it as much of a choice, because in the end, it was very much expected of her to be a mother. It was expected of her to have children, at least one, and whether or not she was involved in that child’s life was a different story, but she’d grown up all too aware of the fact that being born biologically female, and a witch, meant that she would be having kids. It was so entrenched in her that the very thought of not bearing a child almost seemed absurd, even if the question of if she wanted one had been, for quite a while, “no”. 

She’d thought about it, of course, when she was in the military. She wondered if she could get away with just having her partner have a child, if it came down to it, but even then, she’d known the military wouldn’t stand for that. They would want both witches, healthy and young as they would be, to bear an heir. At least one each.

That obligation hanging over her head was why Raelle had seriously considered Byron’s offer, when he’d mentioned replenishing the troops. She liked Byron. He’d been there for her when even Scylla hadn’t, and Raelle figured that they could find a way to not hate each other if ever they had to do…well, what was normally required, in order for her to become pregnant. Though thankfully, there were other ways besides the usual route, which Raelle would have definitely tried first before letting Byron anywhere near her vagina. 

Not that he really wanted to be near it, either. For both of their sanities, it would have been better for him to just donate his sperm, which he’d ended up doing anyway. 

“I’ll see if I can pry it from him, but he’s pretty mum about how he makes his cocktails,” Scylla said, sending Tally a small smile. “But, I better go check on him. I left him and Samuel in the kitchen and I don’t know that I trust them to be alone that long,”

Raelle glanced up just in time to see Scylla lower herself, stealing a quick kiss. 

Scylla gave her a beautiful, mischievous smile. “Try not to miss me too much,”

Raelle kissed her hand again before releasing her hold. “Love you,”

“I love you too,” Scylla kissed her one more time before taking her leave. 

Raelle watched her go almost in a haze, contentment buoying her mood, and she could feel the dopey smile on her face. She couldn’t help it. Scylla was…gorgeous. Scylla. The mother of their child. Or, well…the “father”? She had been content to just say the mother of her child, but Abigail had been cracking so many jokes about Scylla being the father that Raelle could feel the terms getting fuzzy in her mind. 

She shook her head to clear it. The nomenclature didn’t matter, what mattered was Scylla, who had been taking very, _very_ good care of Raelle during her pregnancy. Raelle shivered at the thought, turning her attention back to her unit and Glory, who were all wearing knowing smirks. 

Raelle felt herself blush. “What?” she grumbled, taking her straw between her teeth and taking another sip of her mocktail. 

God, when had she become the type to like mocktails? She didn’t really know, but pregnancy had given her a hell of a sweet tooth, and honestly, she was kind of too blissed out to even care how a mocktail may hurt her masculine street cred, which Abigail apparently seemed to think she had in spades. 

“You’re so in love, you know that?” Tally asked, tilting her head, her voice fond. 

“Of course she is, that’s the father of her kid right there,” Abigail shot in yet another joke. 

Raelle rolled her eyes. Abigail’d been making the jokes near non-stop since she’d found that Raelle was pregnant. Apparently, Raelle’s entire unit and friends had a pool going about which of the two would get pregnant first, aware that both were trying, but it seemed that everyone had been convinced that Scylla would be the one carrying the first Collar-Ramshorn child. 

Glory had been the only one to bet on it being Raelle, so she’d won, which Raelle found she wasn’t even mad about.

And it was apparently just the funniest thing to Abigial that it was actually Raelle who was pregnant. She’d teased her near-mercilessly about how she “Could have sworn you were the top, shitbird,” (Raelle no longer had the energy to remind Abigail that both parties, when they both had the right parts, could, in fact, carry a pregnancy: regardless of their possible role in the bedroom) and just loved to mention, whenever Abigail could, that she genuinely couldn’t believe that Raelle was the one having their kid. 

And would likely be having their next one, if they had another biological one. 

But Abigail didn’t know that.

In fact, yet another joke about Raelle being the one who was pregnant had been exactly what Abigail was saying before Scylla had come out. 

Perhaps seeing Raelle’s same eye-roll, Tally had piped up, admonishing Abigail for her stupid, sexist jokes (“It’s not sexist, Tal. It takes a hell of a woman to carry a pregnancy, I think what shitbird’s doing is better and much more honorable than just being the sperm donor, so to speak, I just honestly thought for sure she would knock up Necro first,”) which Tally had answered in the same way that, for so long, Raelle would have, also:

“I don’t know why you thought that, they’re both young women who are fertile under the goddess, either one of them could have gotten pregnant!”

Scylla had come out right before the argument had started, handing the unit and Glory their drinks before coming to Raelle, sat as she was in their most comfortable chair. She rounded the back of it, placing one hand comfortingly on Raelle’s left shoulder and offering her her mocktail with her right hand, leaning down and kissing the crown of Raelle’s head lovingly. 

Tally had said those words just as Raelle had accepted her drink, and Raelle had felt Scylla stiffen. 

_Fertile under the goddess._

Raelle had immediately tried to soothe her wife.

_She doesn’t know._

_They don’t know._

Raelle had switched the mocktail to her left hand, caressing Scylla’s wrist and grabbing her empty and still held-out hand, trying to defuse the demons that she knew always danced just below the surface in Scylla’s mind. 

She knew she would have to talk to her about it later. She knew it still affected Scylla, though Scylla tried to pretend that it didn’t. 

That was why the goddess had given them the offer. Because she knew it would haunt Scylla. Because she knew Scylla would take it. Because she knew it would hurt. Because it was a punishment as much as it wasn’t, and Scylla had seemed to have forgotten that, when she’d agreed to the terms.

Because Scylla had a price to pay, and Raelle hadn’t wanted her to pay it. But it wasn’t Raelle’s decision. 

Still. She wished she could do something about the anguish she could still see in Scylla’s features, sometimes. 

But they had guests to entertain. Guests that were there for Raelle. That were there for whatever this witch version of a baby shower was, months before she was due and with just close friends. According to Abigail, it was High Atlantic tradition to have such an affair, called “Berkana”, though Raelle wasn’t sure how much she necessarily believed a word out of Abigail’s mouth. And when she had tried to remind Abigail that she wasn’t a High Atlantic, anyway, so it didn’t even matter, Abigail had waved her off.

“You’re my family, Raelle. That makes you a High Atlantic. It’s that simple.” And Raelle had nearly burst into tears hearing that. 

Stupid hormones. 

The “Berkana” – which she’d been told was a celebration named for the rune of fertility and life – seemed more just like an excuse for all of them to get together, but Raelle wasn’t complaining. It’d been a while since she’d seen her unit and Glory, and she missed them. They’d all been through so much, and she was…well, fuck, she was proud that they’d made it out alive. 

There were many of their cousins who could not say the same. 

Raelle’s mother included.

They were the lucky ones. Battered and bruised and older and wiser, but still young at heart. Exhausted from the wars they had fought, the change they had wrought, and finally allowed a respite: a rest, after giving so much of their lives to violence and destruction. 

For now, there was peace. 

And Raelle truly felt it. 

“You look blazed out of your mind right now Collar, you sure that’s a mocktail?” Abigail’s voice pulled her back to the conversation she’d been spacing out on. 

“Positive,” she muttered, but she did feel a little drunk. 

She knew why, too. People’d always told her that pregnancy was a magical time for a witch, but she hadn’t believed it. Now, though…

Now, she was inclined to agree with them, living it first-hand.

But then again…her circumstances were special. 

“You’re positively glowing, Raelle. Pregnancy looks good on you,” Glory complimented, with a tilt of her head. 

Raelle smiled at her, “Thank you, Glory,”

Tally perked up, “How _is_ pregnancy treating you, Rae? We haven’t heard much about it,”

Raelle let her head lull back, thinking. How was pregnancy treating her?

“Honestly?” she brought her gaze back to the women sitting around her. Glory was sitting on the ground, a flower child through and through, with a crown of daisies she’d made for herself when she’d first arrived placed on her head, barefoot and with a huge smile on her face. She was beautiful. 

Tally, for her part, was sat on the small lawn table that was supposed to be between the two cushioned lawn chairs, but that she’d moved to be between Glory and Abigail. Tally seemed comfortable at any rate, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and her full attention on Raelle. She, too, was beautiful. 

And then there was Abigail, looking more at home then she had any right to be in the other lawn chair, identical to Raelle’s except Raelle’s was better because Scylla had put an extra pillow down on it before Raelle had sat. She was only five months pregnant, but she’d be lying if she said that Scylla’s doting on her wasn’t incredibly endearing. 

Even with her smug smile, eyes curious for Raelle’s answer…Abigail, too, was beautiful. 

And that honestly summed it up. Pregnancy seemed to make everything…beautiful. 

“It’s fucking amazing, honestly,” Raelle finally settled on, stretching slightly in her seat, leaning back. The afternoon sun felt good on her skin, her light red plaid shirt unbuttoned and open, white tank top underneath thin and allowing her to feel the slight breeze of the early afternoon. The cool drink in her hand felt amazing, her unit and friend were there with her, and she was carrying Scylla’s child. She wasn’t sure what the fuck else she could ask for. “Had I known it would be this amazing, would have done it ages ago,” she half-joked.

She wouldn’t have done it ages ago, because she wouldn’t have wanted to bring a child into the world in which she’d lived before. In which they’d lived before. A world of violence, of war, of witch slavery. 

But…if that hadn’t been a factor…honestly, perhaps there was truth in her words, after all. Because honestly…pregnancy was great. 

“Yeah?” Glory asked, genuinely curious.

Raelle chuckled. “I mean…I can feel the power boost, you know? It’s…crazy. I always feel like I’m buzzing. Always just a little bit high. And like…fuck, my meals are all provided? I don’t have to lift a finger. I don’t have to cook unless I want to. I can ask for whatever I want, and I get it? And like yeah, sometimes I’m exhausted, but it’s not a bad exhausted? And when it is, I can just get a massage like…whenever? And, I mean, Scylla’s been going down on me nearly nightly-”

Glory laughed and Raelle felt the lazy smile spread across her features as both Tally and Abigail made faces, one of pride but simultaneously, embarrassment (Tally) and one, an eye-roll (Abigail). 

“So honestly, I’m kind of blissed out of my fucking mind right now,” Raelle didn’t even try to lie. It was just true: all of it. 

“You’re so lucky,” Glory said, sounding wistful.

“You really are, most witches are lucky to just have their baby’s fathers during their pregnancies. You have two househusbands and your partner,” Abigail tilted her head. “I’m actually a little jealous. Even I don’t expect to be so well looked-after when I have my first. Perhaps by my third, when I’ll have a few baby daddies to help,”

“How will William feel about that?” Tally raised an eyebrow, and Abigail shrugged. 

“We’re discussing it,” she said it nonchalantly, but even Raelle could tell it would likely be a point of contention. William, a civilian, was trying his damnest to fit into witch traditions, being with a High Atlantic, but…Raelle knew some things made little sense to him. Especially the idea of Abigail having multiple children with multiple partners. In fact, it probably already was a point of contention, and likely why Abigail hadn’t had a youngling or two of her own, yet. In fact…Raelle was the first of her unit to get pregnant, which was also kind of a hell of a surprise. Even she wouldn’t have placed that bet. Tally was somehow single, and Glory and her partners were in the process of getting one of them pregnant, though Glory had revealed she wasn’t trying, this time around.

“I’ll do it next time,” she had said, with a shrug.

“Don’t wait too long to discuss it,” Tally said sagely to Abigail, who rolled her eyes. 

Tally turned her attention back to Raelle. “But Abs is right, you’re so lucky! Byron’s really a good guy, huh?” Tally smiled. 

Raelle nodded. “Honestly? He’s the best. Between him and Samuel, all the cooking and cleaning is taken care of. All the errands are done. And like they kind of have a lot of sex so it keeps the whole house charged. It’s nice,” Raelle muttered. 

It was. Something about the energy in the house was just…warm. Full of love. When they’d first found out that Raelle was pregnant – actually, honest-to-goddess pregnant – Byron had immediately stepped up, despite the growing pregnancy not technically being his. He’d moved into the guest room in their house, as was more or less witch custom for the prospective father if he wasn’t married to his pregnant witch, but he’d asked a little down the line if he could bring his boyfriend. Raelle had met Samuel a few times before, and he was sweet. Like Byron, a bit eccentric, very gay, but a bit more subtle about it than Byron. 

They’d all agreed to a visit, which had just gone on from there, Samuel nearly as doting as Byron over Raelle, and she’d still been in the early stages of her pregnancy by then. She hadn’t even been showing, and she actually hadn’t needed all the fussing, but the days were lonely because Scylla had to work, and Raelle found that she rather liked the company. 

And as their little one had continued growing…well, having everything taken care of had been nice. 

Scylla had agreed, and so, Samuel stayed. 

And…well, Abigail wasn’t wrong. Having two househusbands was honestly, blissful. Samuel was a tidy person, and he was a great cook, so meals and cleaning were handled. Byron was entertaining, happy, a boisterous presence that was taking care of most of the preparation for the baby’s arrival, including taking over much of what should have been Scylla’s duties, like scheduling visits with Fixers and specialists. He also had taken to designing the baby’s nursery and taking care of rounding up supplies in preparations for what would inevitably be long nights with the newborn.

Scylla still did everything she could, but she was on base as necessary and so wasn’t always around. And Raelle wasn’t lying…pregnancy had made her nearly insatiable, when it came to Scylla. Just the sight of her wife could get her going, especially if it’d been more than a day since she’d seen her, and with Scylla’s continued military service…her muscles had never been so defined, and her uniforms had never looked so crisp. Even just a glimpse of Scylla in her blacks, the officer uniform for Ghost Corps – jet-black with a black garrison cap – that really just did… _things_ , to Raelle. Or the glimpse of a strong tricep flexing as Scylla pulled on (or off) said uniform could have Raelle sweating and needy, and Scylla was all too happy to let Raelle have her wicked way with her. Or vice-versa. 

Raelle literally couldn’t ask for anything else. She was very, very content, even if she was secretly just as surprised as her unit that she was the one carrying their child. She didn’t mind, she just…hadn’t been expecting it. 

But they didn’t know. They didn’t know the sacrifices that had been made. They didn’t know everything that had gone into the little miracle growing inside of Raelle, and it wasn’t up to her to tell them. It hadn’t been her sacrifice to make, so it wasn’t her story to tell. 

She looked up as Scylla came out the back door to the tiny back yard once more, this time carrying a stool that would serve as their table, since Tally was sitting on their actual yard table, and a platter of what looked like delicious mini-quiches. 

Raelle’s mouth watered, and as though sensing that her hunger very much was not for the food, Scylla looked up and smirked, setting everything down before straightening.

“Byron and Samuel will be out soon with the rest, but they’ve officially relieved me of kitchen duty,” Scylla said, coming over to Raelle and giving her another kiss. 

“Good! Have a seat! Join us for a while,” Glory patted the ground, and Scylla sent her a small smile before doing just that, sitting in front of Raelle and grabbing a mini-quiche, turning and handing it to Raelle on a napkin before grabbing her own.

Raelle opened her legs so that Scylla could lean back, which she did, and Raelle sighed, content, mini-quiche in hand, warm and happy. 

Her smile dropped and she winced as she felt a brief but very unpleasant pressure on one of her internal organs. 

Damn, she’d almost made it four whole hours without a strong kick like that. She hadn’t been expecting her child to be such a kicker. Honestly, that was perhaps the only downside to her pregnancy, and she straightened uncomfortably when she felt another particularly hard one.

“Hey, whoa, you okay?” Abigail’s concerned voice had her looking at her unit-mate, eyes suddenly serious.

Raelle smiled reassuringly, even as she winced again. 

“Yeah, fine. This one’s just a kicker. Hasn’t really stopped. Sometimes I get a few hours’ reprieve, but-”

Scylla turned where she sat, and Raelle subtly indicated to her that she was fine, really. Scylla bit her lip, still looking concerned, but made no other motion to help, which Raelle appreciated. It wasn’t like there was much Scylla could do, anyway. Sometimes, she would put her hands on Raelle’s swollen abdomen and whisper to it, but the baby did not seem to give a fuck, even with a calming seed vibrating out of Scylla’s throat and very nearly putting Raelle right to sleep. 

Mostly, Raelle just took it. It was a small price to pay for all the luxury she was otherwise experiencing. And it was…nice. It was nice to feel that life inside of her, no matter how punishing it’s tiny little fists and feet. 

Abigail snorted. “No doubt about it, then. Watch out Ramshorn, you’ve got a Collar on your hands,” 

Raelle rolled her eyes, handing Scylla back the quiche that she hadn’t gotten a chance to eat and putting her hands on her stomach, willing her overzealous child to _chill the fuck out, thanks_. 

It didn’t really work, but it did enough that she didn’t feel quite as uncomfortable, and she settled back in her seat once more. 

“Good thing I have a soft spot for Collars,” Scylla said, her voice quiet, as she smiled at Raelle. A small smile, almost playful, and Raelle reached out and gently threaded her fingers through her hair. 

“They seem to have a thing for you too, Ramshorn,” she murmured. 

Abigail blanched as both Tally and Glory aw’d out loud. 

Raelle smiled at them all, sat before her, as the conversation drifted to placing bets on who would be the next of them to get pregnant, and Raelle couldn’t help but be thankful that no bets landed on Scylla. She wasn’t sure how well Scylla would react, even as a joke, and Raelle lovingly played with Scylla’s hair, half-listening to the conversation, half focused on the beautiful soul before her. 

No one knew what Scylla had done for them. For this baby. 

They didn’t know, but she did. 

And that made it all the more special. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the name Ghost Corps was inspired by the Ghost Army that the USA used during World War II and was all about deception, as in, having inflatable tanks and setting up whole-ass fake bunkers to fool enemies into thinking the bases were real, to distract them from finding the actual real ones. While the Ghost Corps of this fic are decidedly different, it was just a fun lil' factoid and I liked it so put it in here lmao.
> 
> Another fun fact, in a bout of "okay but what would the uniform look like and how would Scylla look in it", I got some very bad quality screen grabs and busted out my rudimentary Photoshop skills, so that may end up on my tumblr page just for funsies.
> 
> Anyway! Next chapter will be up soon after some polishing, hope you guys liked this one at any rate. If so drop a line, I would really appreciate it as it's definitely not my usual thing, so while I'm quite confident in my writing technique, I'm definitely interested in what you guys think. Other than that, I'll see at least some of you tomorrow for the update on Buried Deep!


	2. The Payment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all, took me a while to polish but we're here and we're ready to go! I'm glad to see some of you so intrigued by pregnant Raelle, and that you're here for knowing what Scylla had to sacrifice for that lil' baby that Raelle is carrying, and this chapter delves into it, in some detail, so just popped up a couple of warnings that you'll see below.
> 
> The warnings for this chapter are as follows:  
> -Blood and gore: it gets pretty dark in here, if only for a few lines. Again, it's for a reason, but it's still probablyyy more than you were bargaining for when opening a pregnancy fic.  
> -Trauma: from the above mentioned blood and gore. Scylla's working through it but it's A Lot.  
> -I took a scientific approach to how Raylla would have needed to conceive a child so like...ya know, discussions of body fluids we probably would prefer to not talk about...
> 
> It's honestly probably not as bad as I make it seem but I always like to give people robust warnings, so *shrug*. 
> 
> Anyway! That's it from me, enjoy this next chapter in their journey...

Scylla didn’t want to go out. Scylla didn’t want to smoke a cigar and have a drink at some expensive bar, in a private section that one Abigail Bellweather had rented entirely for the occasion. She didn’t want to leave her pregnant wife, even though she knew that Raelle was being well looked after. She didn’t want to celebrate having completed her “fatherly” duties: she didn’t want to drink expensive cognac while discussing the finer points of how she’d knocked up her witch and how she was continuing the matiriline and thus, was to be clapped on the back. 

She didn’t want any of that. 

She didn’t deserve any of that.

But she wasn’t given much of a choice. As things had wound down on the “baby shower” – which was a tradition she had literally never heard of in witch custom – Abigail had dragged her to the side while the others started cleaning everything up. 

Byron and Samuel had eventually joined them all on the lawn, both fawning over Raelle, Samuel taking her hand and kissing it like she was some kind of regal, and Byron coming right up behind her and kissing the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her from behind the chair and sending Scylla a small smile. 

Scylla smiled back at him. It’d been a bit…odd, at first, to see how the two men doted over Raelle. She would be lying if she said a stab of jealousy hadn’t run through her, despite knowing there was no threat there. Neither man wanted anything with Raelle (and Raelle certainly wanted nothing to do with men in general) other than to help her prepare for baby Ramshorn-Collar. She knew that both of them, even Samuel, cared deeply for Raelle and for their unborn child, and truly, she loved to see Raelle’s smile at finally receiving all the love that she deserved. So she’d gotten over the jealousy rather quickly, but she was just…so unused to seeing so much open affection. It was…nice. She hoped that her daughter got to see it. She hoped that that open affection would continue on, even when the men were no longer living with them. She wanted her daughter to know light. She wanted her daughter to know love. She wanted her daughter to be surrounded by the things Scylla had never gotten until it was nearly too late for her. 

She wanted her daughter to have a better life. The best life. 

She was nervous as shit, honestly. 

And sometimes, she felt like a failure. 

Which she knew was preposterous. She knew that. She’d literally come up with an entirely new branch of Work that had allowed her to replace Byron’s DNA with her own. She’d worked tirelessly with Mycelium and Seeds and biology, working together with various teams, nearly feverish in her pursuit, for months. 

But she hadn’t had much of a choice. She’d been on a deadline. 

For as long as she lived, she would never tell Raelle that. She would never tell Raelle that she knew the minute she’d used the pump on the strap-on, filled with Byron’s donated sperm, all of his DNA wiped and replaced with her own…she knew the pregnancy would take. She would never tell Raelle that it was actually the only way the pregnancy would take, what was effectively her own sperm entering Raelle with each thrust as Raelle came, her walls fluttering around the dildo. 

That had been a stipulation. One of many. 

She would never tell Raelle about that stipulation. That was between her, and the goddess. 

No, Scylla knew that all that she had done – all that she had accomplished – meant she was not a failure. Nowhere near it, actually. She had very nearly defied the laws of nature: bent them to her will until they were nearly unrecognizable, getting by on technicalities alone. 

That was not failure. That was genius. That was incredible, and every time she looked at Raelle’s growing belly, she couldn’t help but be in awe. 

That was _her_ child, in there. Hers and Raelle’s. Theirs. That was not a failure, and looking at Raelle, she knew that everything she had done for it…was worth it. 

But in her darker moments…the demons still snuck up on her. Whispered in her ear that despite all she had accomplished, she was still a failure. That it should be her, carrying their child. That despite having figured out a way to make the child both hers and Raelle’s, she’d still failed because she wasn’t the one who could carry that baby to term. That she was a failure because she was failing in her duties as a witch. As a woman in her society. That despite all she had done, she would never be the mother her daughter deserved. She would never be the “father” her daughter deserved, either. She would never be a good parent, because she had failed, and because she was not a good person.

So she didn’t want to celebrate, no. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to celebrate. She had defeated science and magic itself, in what appeared to be defiance of the goddess but was actually in her service, but at a very high price. A high price she had deserved to pay, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

She had nothing to celebrate because everything she had done was for Raelle. Was for that baby growing in Raelle’s womb. Was for herself. The fact that Raelle was pregnant, was the celebration. She didn’t want more than that. 

She didn’t deserve more than that.

And she wasn’t a High Atlantic, so she was a bit indignant when Abigail had told her to dress up because they were going out, as future fathers were supposed to do. High Atlantic tradition.

“You’re not a father, though.” Scylla had pointed out, because it was very clear that Abigail planned on coming to the “fatherly” shindig. She paused, then, ruminating, “And I’m not a High Atlantic.” Scylla had reminded her, fighting down a bit of a scowl. 

She liked Abigail, truly. She’d realized, gradually, just how similar they were, actually. Head-strong. Driven. Ambitious. Self-serving. It made sense that they’d never gotten along: they were far too alike. And for a long time, they had been on opposite sides. They’d had no reason to be friends. 

But with the fall of the military, with the fall of Spree, with the fall of it all…they’d connected. Their love for Raelle had brought them together, when Scylla had realized just how deeply High Atlantic cared for Raelle. And Scylla had then taken the leap, baring her soul to Abigail so that she could see just how in love with Raelle Scylla truly was. 

Doing that had formed a sort of trust between them, which only grew through the years. 

To the point that, despite not being a High Atlantic by blood nor by birth, she was now one by association, which Raelle had informed her about with a slightly apologetic look on her face as she helped clean up after her little baby shower thing. 

“I’m sorry beautiful, but that’s what I was told, and if I’m a High Atlantic, that means you’re married to one, so,”

“When did you become one?” Scylla had asked, helpless.

“When I said so!” Abigail interrupted, “Now! Get dressed, you have an hour, I’ll be back with my cousin and we can go to the bar, he’s also celebrating his Inguz.”

Scylla had blanched. Inguz. The celebration of male fertility, named after the rune of the same concept. 

She wasn’t that. It’d been Byron’s sperm, for fuck’s sake. She’d just tweaked its genetic code. Hell, she hadn’t even known how to get the damn pump ready, too nervous to actually sit down and work out how the fucking thing worked. Byron had had to set it up for her. 

She was annoyed, and frustrated with herself. She should be proud. She was basically a legend: the first of her kind to get her wife pregnant. A Necro knocking up a Fixer. Death, creating life anew. What she’d done was considered a breakthrough by some, an abomination by others, and no matter what was said about it…it was beautiful. 

It was beautiful. 

But it had come, as Scylla herself, from wretched beginnings, and that was what haunted her. What made it hard for her to wallow in that sense of a job well done, despite…well, having done a good job. She’d made Raelle cum thrice with that strap-on alone, the night their daughter was conceived. Not to mention the myriad of other ways she’d managed to get Raelle off (and Raelle, her). 

She had no doubt that, under normal circumstances, she may have subtly rubbed it in Abigail’s cousin’s face that she had given her partner so much pleasure. That she had beat a male witch at his own game of romance, sex, and reproduction. 

And some part of her _was_ proud. Some part of her did want to peacock. 

Another part was tired. Exhausted. Still reeling with all the ramifications of her choices. That part still felt that yawning emptiness at knowing she would never feel the joy that Raelle very clearly felt, the pregnancy making her positively radiate with power and light.

And still a larger part of Scylla was just fucking terrified.

The latter two parts did not want to go out that evening, but she’d been left no choice, Raelle pushing her out the door using the same excuse (“It’s a High Atlantic tradition!”) and Scylla reluctantly shrugging on her jacket in the cool September air. 

The timing wasn’t great, either. Every night closer to Samhain saw her more and more restless. 

Samhain would be one year. One whole year. 

She needed Samhain’s energy. She needed the cleanse it would bring her. She needed the macabre, the blood, the thinning of veils to feel beyond herself. To connect with her inner turmoil and expel it. Expel her grief. 

She knew Samhain would help. But the energy, building, made her restless. 

And she knew that sometimes, Raelle picked up on that energy, nervous as it was. Scylla knew that that was why, despite her misgivings, Raelle had pushed her out that night. Out to the bar. Out to celebrate Inguz, where Raelle’s Berkana had been celebrated earlier that day.

And that was how she found herself staring at her cognac (on ice: it was a fancy-ass brand and Scylla may not be a good person, but she wasn’t a monster) and the half-smoked cigar on the table. 

Abigail’s cousin’s name was Lux, and he seemed nice enough. He was soft-spoken but boisterous, and Scylla tried to pay attention to him, but she found herself unable to really do so. He asked her about how she’d managed to create sperm with her DNA, and she’d explained it in the best way she could, which he was the correct amount of impressed about. He was polite, didn’t ask for details about the actual process of getting Raelle pregnant, though he asked the day they found out. 

“Beltane,” Scylla had answered, simply. Which was…true for her. Not for Raelle, who wouldn’t find out for another few weeks. 

They’d both been insatiable that day, and to say the day had been nothing more than a sex marathon for the both of them would not be an exaggeration. To an outsider looking in, it would have seemed like they’d been apart for months. 

Which…in a way, they had. Scylla had been toiling tirelessly on her new Work leading up to Beltane, because it was needed to make all their hard work come to fruition. That modified sperm…was the last piece of a puzzle that had taken quite a lot of time and energy and blood and sacrifice to solve. 

And she’d had to do all of that on top of her contractual obligation to the military. She hadn’t been around at home a lot, so yes, when they finally reunited…they’d been rather desperate to properly reconnect.

Lux had smiled politely, “Damn, what a time to find out!”

Scylla sent him an empty smile and sipped her drink, until Lux ended up excusing himself to go to the bar, and Abigail had shifted in their little private booth until she was directly next to Scylla, on her left at their table. 

“Okay, what gives, Necro?”

Scylla looked at Abigail and pursed her lips. “Not one for tradition, I guess,” she muttered, taking a sip from her cognac. 

“Ah yeah, obviously. You created an entirely new branch of Work to knock up your wife,” Abigail said, with a laugh. “Not very traditional of you. But like…I don’t know. Let loose a little. I haven’t seen you this wound up since you and Raelle were broken up.” She tilted her head, “The hard part is over now! You’ve gotten her pregnant, and you have two men at home taking care of her. Have a drink, have a smoke, live a little!” she clapped Scylla’s thigh for emphasis, “Relax, daddy!”

She meant it as a joke, and Scylla knew she meant it as a joke, but she felt her face contort in disgust and felt a dangerous look cross her features. 

Abigail removed her hand from Scylla’s leg, rolling her eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Necro, it’s a joke. Who shoved a stick up your ass and should I call Raelle to come take it out?”

Scylla looked away, toying with the glass in her hand, suddenly unable to answer, a lump in her throat that hadn’t been there before. She tried to swallow around it and failed, and without warning, her eyes were burning, tears building. 

She hoped that Abigail wouldn’t see them, but of course, she did. 

“Shit. Fuck,” Abigail got closer, scooching in, “Scyl, shit, I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

Scylla blinked, and the tears fell. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she felt mild annoyance at her body for betraying her like that. 

“What if I fuck it up, Abigail?” she asked, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. Unwilling to say the words aloud, lest they become too real. 

“Fuck up what?”

“This,” Scylla stared at her glass, as though it was what she was talking about. “This…baby. This…child…”

“Scylla,” Abigail’s voice was surprisingly soft. “Hey. Don’t worry, you’re nervous. That’s normal. But I promise. You’ll make a great dad,”

Scylla sent her a sidelong glance, then. She tried to muster even a half-smile and knew she failed miserably as the last traces of hope fell from Abigail’s features, and she realized just how broken Scylla was really feeling. 

“Hey,” Abigail ducked, trying to get Scylla to look at her as she concentrated back on her glass. “Hey, look at me, Scylla,”

Scylla swallowed but did as instructed, looking at Abigail, who was looking at her with a mix of pity and confusion. “Where is this coming from? Why are you thinking this? You’ve been doing amazing with Raelle. You’ve done everything to make sure she has what she needs and wants. You’re good with kids. I’ve seen you with the fosterlings, on base. You _like_ kids.”

Scylla worked her jaw. She did like kids. She liked kids and despite never thinking she would bear any of her own, now that she couldn’t…it was like a hot knife twisting in her gut. The problem wasn’t the child, per se. It was…her. She’d failed once already, in her duties as a mother. What if she failed again, once their daughter was born?

“You’ll be a great parent. I’m sorry, I know the dad jokes really get on everyone’s nerves, it’s just me processing, promise. And I also promise it’s not meant in a degrading way,”

“I know,” Scylla said quietly. “But…fuck, Abigail. Can I be a good parent? Is that something…is that even possible, considering…everything I’ve done?”

Abigail sat back, Scylla’s words hitting her. 

The mall felt like…so long ago. It’d been years and years since she’d been that angry, hate-filled teenager. But she’d committed more war crimes even after that. She had blood on her hands. Lots of it. And while she knew that, in theory…her daughter never had to know what she did – her daughter didn’t need to learn about her dark past – she knew that her very presence carried its own darkness with it. That all of the trauma she had endured, and put others through, meant she carried with her a myriad of complexes and emotional issues. Could she be a good parent? Could she teach this child right from wrong, when she was still very much learning to fully understand it herself? Could she be there for her daughter like no one had been there for her after her parents, until Raelle? 

Could she be the mother this child deserved? 

She didn’t know. On her best days, she knew the answer was obviously yes. That she had worked long and hard, for years and years, to be the type of woman who Raelle deserved. To be the type of person who _could_ be a good parent. She knew that she would love any child of theirs, fosterling or biological. She knew that she could be the person she never had, when she was a lost kid, scared and alone in a violent and cruel world. 

On her worst days…she wondered if her daughter would be able to sense the death on her. There was no guarantee that the little one would be Necro. She had both Necro and Fixer DNA coursing in her veins, and she very well could take after Raelle: a Fixer through and through. 

But if she didn’t? If she had Necro powers embedded in her vocal cords…would she sense the death that accompanied Scylla like an old friend? 

If she was even a fraction as powerful as Raelle…Scylla had little doubt. And what could Scylla tell her daughter, to explain all that death that radiated off of her? “I killed thousands of people for the liberation of my own,” “I ended thousands of innocent lives for revenge for all that had been taken from me”. 

“I have darkness in me, and I may have passed it on to you. I may still pass it on to you, even if it isn’t inscribed in our very DNA”. 

“I killed thousands, for your freedom,”

She knew, of course, that she had a lot to show that she had changed. She could show her daughter how she had illuminated that darkness within with little acts of kindness and love and trust, which had turned to bigger and bigger ones until she could almost be considered a good person.

Almost.

She could tell her daughter that she had paid her penance, Samhain that year past. 

Her abdomen ached, dull: a memory. 

She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. 

“What you did was fucked, Ramshorn,”

Scylla whimpered, actually whimpered, at the harsh words. She glanced over at Abigail, knowing that she deserved the angry look she was surely receiving. 

Except, Abigail was looking at her…with sadness. “I’m not going to sugar coat it. You killed a lot of people, and you did it on more than one occasion.”

Scylla hung her head. 

“But,” she heard Abigail sigh, “It was war. We all did horrible things, in the end. Your body count of innocents is still…far larger than any of ours. And I think that it’s good, that you know that. That you question that about yourself. That you wonder how you can teach your daughter to be a good person, when you yourself are not one. You never have been, and I’m not going to pretend that all that you’ve done makes up for what you did. You’ve come a long way, but you’ll never be able to change who you are at your very marrow, and there: you are vindictive. You are self-serving. You are cold. And I think you’ll spend the rest of your life grappling with that. With who you are at your core, and what you’ve done. With who you were. And, with time, maybe you’ll forgive yourself. Maybe the goddess will see fit to allow you that,”

Scylla snorted into her drink. “The goddess has forgiven me. Otherwise, Raelle wouldn’t be pregnant,”

“…what?”

Scylla snapped her eyes open, realizing what she’d said. Out loud.

They hadn’t told Raelle’s unit. 

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. 

She turned her gaze to Abigail, who stared back, an accusatory look on her face.

Fuck, maybe Scylla had had more cognac than she thought. She squinted into her glass, but she could still feel Abigail’s gaze boring into her, and with a heavy sigh, she made a decision. 

“You remember, how no matter how much we tried, nothing stuck?” she asked, to her drink more than to Abigail, but she could see Abigail nod out of the corner of her eye. 

Scylla nodded as well. “We went to so many Fixers. The best of the best. Hell, even some who had taught Willa-” the name made Abigail flinch. Willa Collar, Raelle’s mom…killed in the war against the Camarilla. One-time Spree leader. 

That had been a hell of a mess. “-and none of them knew what was wrong. Both of us were healthy. Of child-bearing age. There were no reasons for our bodies to continue to reject pregnancies. Mine especially. Raelle’s…with all the Work that had to go into extricating her from the Mycelium, it would have made sense. But even then, Fixers said she was perfectly healthy. That we were both capable of having successful pregnancies, and yet…nothing stuck. Over and over and over again, we tried. And…nothing. 

“Raelle always got further along than I did, and so the theory developed that, because I was Necro, perhaps my close proximity to death made it hard for me to keep an embryo. But that doesn’t really make a lot of sense: my mother didn’t have a specialization, but I have no doubt that if she did, she would have been Necro. She only had me, but that still means she was able to have a child. And it didn’t explain why Raelle couldn’t hold a pregnancy, either.

“We got desperate. We found some psilocybin mushrooms. Ground them into a fine powder to make tea, and performed a Summoning on Beltane. Last year,” Scylla swallowed, closing her eyes. 

The memory felt like yesterday. Tracking down the proper mushrooms, and harvesting them correctly. Drying them, getting the dosage right, setting up the alter on the ground and then drinking their strongly brewed tea. The sex had been absolutely unreal, the world warping around them and inside of them, but sex was part of the ritual: moving together, full of heady lust and desire for each other, and for answers. All in a pentagram of moonflower petals, candles of different varieties at each point and other charms to coax the goddess to them as she watched her creation fornicate in her name, all across the globe. 

“The goddess never speaks, she only comes in dreams and dreaming wakefulness: an altered state is required. I don’t remember much, except Raelle’s face when she-” Scylla swallowed. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as Raelle coming undone with her, light breaking out of cracks and fissures that formed across her skin as she moaned, the vibrations so guttural that Scylla felt them in her very soul, tugging her into her own orgasm.

“When I woke up the next morning, we both had our answers. The goddess could not bless our attempts because of what I had done. I had struck an imbalance in the world, by taking thousands of lives that were not mine to take,” Scylla let out a sigh, “and she had grown weary of seeing her creation use her Work for bloodshed. And because Raelle was mine…despite Raelle’s goodness, she could not bless her, either. She had seen all that I had been doing, and all that Raelle had been doing, to rectify the imbalance of the world, but my actions had still gone unpunished. Unanswered for,” 

Scylla drew in a breath. 

“We were told: life for life. We would be spared from giving ours because of the reparations that were being accomplished, but something had to be sacrificed. Given, in the wake of the souls lost. And I had to be the one to give it,”

Scylla tightened her jaw, unsure how to say the next words. She…hadn’t spoken them, to anyone, besides Raelle. 

“My fertility. The eggs that remained in my body. It seemed like a small price to pay…”

Abigail drew in a breath.

It _had_ felt like a ridiculously small price. Felt like getting away with murder, honestly. Scylla had been willing to take the offer, then and there. Raelle had immediately, vehemently refused. 

They had until Samhain to decide, but Scylla had made her decision already. She’d made it as soon as the goddess had told her, even without being conscious, but Raelle didn’t know that. 

Raelle insisted that they refuse. That Scylla refuse. There were other options. They could adopt: fosterlings. They could take care of those who had lost their parents, like Scylla had, and indeed, fosterlings had been something they’d discussed, when it came to kids. Perhaps one or two biological (two was the goal: one from Scylla, and one from Raelle), and if they enjoyed being parents, more kids down the line would be adopted fosterlings. They knew no matter what, they would love their children. 

And they had already started trying to look into adoption options, yet…

It seemed unfair, to Scylla: that Raelle be punished for her sins. That Raelle had to bear the brunt of Scylla’s consequences. It was wrong, and truly…Scylla had been apprehensive about having kids of her own. From her body. She was terrified, actually. Thrilled, too.

She’d been raised outside of typical witch society and expectation: she had not been expected to have kids. She had very much expected the opposite: to never bring a child into the world, as long as she lived. Such was the harsh life of a Dodger. Why bring someone else into that? 

At the time, all that had awaited any child of hers was a short life and, if said child was lucky, a quick death, and that wasn’t fair to her imaginary baby. All that awaited a child was the military, or dodging. Guaranteed violence, and Scylla vehemently hated the idea of bringing a child into such a volatile world. It wasn’t fair to the kid, nor to her. 

She’d be lying if she said that the idea of having a kid had never crossed her mind, though. Indeed, with Porter pumping inside of her, she sometimes wondered what would happen if she did get pregnant, by accident. What would she do? Could she abort? Would she have the heart? Would she have the nerve? Would she have the child and immediately hand it over to Porter – his problem now? Would she have the kid and then kill it herself, before the world could? Would she just leave it behind, as though nothing had happened? Moved on with her life and forgotten the child she left in the woods, or on a street corner, none the wiser that their mother would one day be a terrorist, and then even further down the road: one of the countless revolutionaries who changed the world? 

Thankfully, she’d never had to find out.

No, the expectation for her had always been to not have children. So what difference did it make if that became physically true, in exchange for Raelle’s freedom from Scylla’s punishment? 

Seemed like a no-brainer. 

Raelle had tried to warn her that she likely would regret it, because despite her fears and misgivings…she clearly wanted kids. She’d slowly come around to the idea, especially seeing Raelle with them. 

Raelle was good with children. And Scylla’d seen Raelle with fosterlings on base once, and it had hit her just how…badly, she wanted that. How badly she wanted a kid or two, and Raelle playing with them in some imaginary back yard, unafraid of the mud after a fresh rainfall, Scylla exasperatedly watching them getting dirtier and dirtier, love swelling in her chest. 

She’d almost cried at the image. She wanted to give that to Raelle: that family. Their family. 

So she’d been trying right along with Raelle, to get pregnant. She’d been reluctant to get her hopes up but despite herself, with each try…she had. She’d been so fucking hopeful she’d get pregnant. That she could do that, for herself and for Raelle. That she could bring one more bit of brightness to the world, from that darkness within her. 

“…Raelle insisted on the fosterlings angle, and I agree, we could have done that. We probably still will. We actually started the process, but it’s frustratingly long,” Scylla turned her glass. Her voice sounded almost…robotic, even to her ears. As though she was shutting down as the memories got closer and closer to the secret she harbored within her. “But I didn’t want her to be infertile her whole life because of what I did. That’s not fair. And, more than that…I wanted – I needed – to atone,” she looked at Abigail, then. 

Abigail was looking at her with rapt attention, a deep furrow in her brow and a frown on her features. Unsure where this was going, but likely sensing it would be heavy. 

“That’s why, the moment I was offered the choice, I took it. I already knew the next steps. I didn’t tell Raelle that I knew what would happen next. I just told her, when Samhain came, that I was going to do it. She seemed…disappointed, but she loves me, so she supported me,”

Scylla clenched her jaw, her grip tight on her glass. “I followed the goddess’ instructions. I went, alone, to a cave on the coast. It’s hidden, impossible to get to, almost. I brought everything that needed to be brought-”

Lamb’s blood, for the pentagram. Black and red candles, wax imbued with gore. Teeth she’d been collecting since Beltane, that she found in skulls in the woods. A burned dagger. 

She’d traced out the pentagram on the cave floor, her fingers coated in lamb’s blood. The fingers she used most frequently inside of Raelle, per the goddess’ instructions. It took hours to dip the teeth into what remained of the blood, placing them around the candles as she lit them, chanting her invoking seed. It was a deep seed. Calling to the depths of the underworld, to hear her cry for forgiveness. Her offered sacrifice, given willingly. 

“I had no idea what it would mean,” her voice sounded dead. 

She’d laid in the middle of the pentagram, naked, after eating the same mushrooms they’d used in their tea at Beltane. 

“They came,” she whispered.

Three of them. Demons, or spirits, or perhaps representations of the goddess herself, during Samhain: head and hands. Or perhaps, nothing but hallucinations…

Figures that were too tall, and too thin: blood red robes hung from saplings, their hands simultaneously bones and twigs. The biggest of the three stood right at her feet, the ground below her pitching and rising until she was on a raised slab, bare before these…beings. Their heads were skulls, the one centered before her, a kudu, its horns spiraling up, up. Regal and imposing. It was flanked by two figures, one on each of its sides, their heads…ram skulls.

It had almost felt…fitting. 

She understood, then, why it was a punishment. 

They moved, their hands controlling hers: a puppet on a string.

She didn’t feel the dagger as it dug into her flesh, right at the swell of her hipbone, but she heard the screams. They were everywhere, reverberating off the walls, and even as she looked away, she could still see the path of her hands as the burnt dagger sliced through her, crude. 

No matter how she writhed, her own hand never stilled, guided. Not in her control. Even when the three beings around her faded and disappeared, flickered around the room, where ever she looked they simultaneously were and were not there. Their presence was in her mind and around her and inside of her and her throat hurt, like physical hands clawing at her vocal chords. And still, they were there, cutting her open. Forcing her to cut herself open. Pain wracked her body in spasms, but she was only distantly aware of it. Those screams they…they were hers. But she couldn’t feel anything, and yet she could, and the blade felt like the trickle of a warm stream, the pain dulled yet somehow acute: the waters of the stream so freezing so as to be numbing. Painful in their own right. Her hand, digging through the jagged lines she had cut into her own flesh, like the inquisitive touch of a lover trying to wake her from slumber, yet slightly too hard: slightly too demanding, slightly too invasive, fingers moving inside of her but not…not where they were supposed to be.

No matter where she looked, she could see it. No matter how she fought, how she screamed, how she cried, her hands moved, relentless, one cutting, one rooting around within her for the demanded payment.

“When it was over, I held them, clasped in my fingers. I knelt before the biggest of my visitors…”

Her hands were covered in blood. Her blood. She was still bleeding, everywhere, her guts threatening to spill out from the self-surgery as she kneeled, holding up her offerings with shaking hands. 

An ovary in each palm, bloody. Hacked out of her with a jagged knife. Pulled out of her by her own hands. 

She could feel them start to shake, around her drink. 

“They burst into flame. It…my sacrifice was accepted. I watched the…the beings, fade. And I passed out…”

Scylla clenched her jaw. “When I woke up, all that was left…were the scars,” she pulled up her shirt, a simple black t-shirt tucked into simple black jeans. Her form of rebellion to being forced out to an Inguz against her will. 

The scars were thin. She was too used to seeing them. They were healed to the point that they were faint. Almost innocuous. As though they hadn’t been responsible for one of the worst traumas Scylla had ever experienced in her life. 

She had known she’d deserved it. That it was recompense for all she had done. All the pain she had caused. 

But it haunted her nightmares. She’d made that trade to make up for her sins, and she knew what that meant. She was forgiven, in the cosmic sense, but-

“But Raelle was right. I did…I had, wanted to have children. My own. And the loss hit me…” she swallowed. “It hit me hard,”

“Fuck, Scylla. I don’t think it was the loss that hit you,”

Scylla let out a humorless chuckle. “No. I suppose the PTSD didn’t help. But that realization was the last straw. It was worth it, but sometimes…I wonder if I made the wrong choice,”

She took in a shaky breath, trying to pull herself from the dark memories. “I mourned, for months. And then…I got to work. I had given my sacrifice, but Raelle still wasn’t getting pregnant, and I knew why. The goddess, she…took pity on me. She knew I would suffer more than even I knew I would. So she made the exception: if I could find a way, she would immediately bless a union of the both of us. But it could only be on Beltane. That Beltane. Last Beltane. So…I found a way,” Scylla shrugged sheepishly. “It was the only way for me to reproduce, and she asked me to find it, almost. So I did. I don’t know if she’ll let me get away with it again,” she looked up at the ceiling, as though the goddess would tell her. 

Of course, no such answer came. She felt she already knew, though. 

A heavy silence settled between them, Abigail digesting the whole story, Scylla stewing in the memories, still fresh, creating that restlessness in her for Samhain. For the familiar swelling of her power, which would help erase the powerlessness she sometimes felt, at the memories of that cave.

Her next words came out in a hushed whisper. “I never told Raelle…”

“What?” Abigail’s voice was hoarse. 

Scylla pulled in a shaky breath. “I never told Raelle. I came home with the scars but I lied and said I didn’t remember anything. I don’t think she believed me, but she didn’t push. She knows it still hit me, hard, when I realized the full implications of it all. She thinks that I still am just…upset at being infertile. And I…I am. I think that it’s what’s hit me hardest. But…the experience wasn’t exactly fun, either. And I didn’t want her to know, Abigail. I _don’t_ want her to know,” Scylla looked at her, then, “And, fuck. Please don’t tell her. She would be…fuck, she would be devastated. I couldn’t…I _can’t_ do that to her. I can’t let her know the real price I paid. It would kill her,”

Tears welled in Scylla’s eyes. Fuck. It would absolutely tear Raelle apart, to know how Scylla had suffered. And Raelle was nothing more than a star, personified, when she was angry: fury burning hotter than the sun, her power crackling in the air around her. She would rain destruction down from the heavens themselves.

Scylla wouldn’t put it past Raelle to try to commit deicide, in that state.

And likely fail. 

And she could not deal with that. She could not lose Raelle, after everything she had sacrificed. The balance had been restored, and if one little lie was what it took for them to finally be happy, then Scylla was willing to do it.

“Please, Abigail.”

And her lip trembled, and without warning, Abigail pulled her into a hug. 

“Fuck, Scylla,”

\---

Abigail brought Scylla outside, her tear-stained face stinging in the cooler air of the night, a slight breeze catching her wet cheeks and making her shiver. 

Scylla didn’t smoke, but Abigail had given her that cigar and suddenly she was sucking it down, just for something to do. 

Fuck. She had intended to take that story to the grave with her. She had pushed it all down, pushed it all away, as soon as she had squeezed that pump and her seed had emptied into Raelle. Because she knew it would work. All that she had done, she had done for Raelle, and her unborn daughter, and she didn’t want either one of them to suffer like she had. She didn’t even want them to know about it. She knew Raelle would lose it. And she couldn’t lose Raelle. 

“You’re gonna be a great fucking parent, Scylla,” Abigail suddenly said. 

Scylla looked up, startled by the fierce tone. 

Abigail was almost…glaring at her, with how hard her gaze was. 

“I…fuck. I had no idea. You did that for Raelle. You _did_ that. You just…” she bit her lip and looked away, looking like she was blinking back tears. 

“You’re going to make a great parent, because you’re a great soldier,”

Scylla almost snorted, but she really was nowhere near the mood for humor, and it didn’t look like Abigail was joking, either.

In fact, her expression was deathly serious. 

Abigail let out a sigh that almost sounded…frustrated. “I know you think it’s an insult, but it’s not. You’re a good soldier. Fuck, Scylla. You were a good soldier for Spree, when you believed in their cause, and you may hate the military, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re the best kind of soldier to have in battle: unafraid to do what has to be done. Ruthless in the pursuit of your goal. So. I’m going to tell you, right now, that you’re going to be a great fucking parent, because you don’t love easily, but when you do, it’s with your whole goddess-forsaken heart. It’s all-consuming. Self-sacrificing. Because you…you went through that. You did that. 

“And it’s normal that you’re scared, but, fuck. You were probably scared then, too, and you did it anyway. You don’t let being scared stop you from your goal. And that makes you a good soldier. You carry out your missions, no matter what, and this is your mission, now. To be the best parent you can be. To be the best _person_ you can be. To do the best _you_ can. And so far, your best has been,” Abigail paused, grinding her teeth, as though mentally recalling all the things Scylla had had a part in: ending Conscription. Tearing down the military. Creating a new world.

Knocking Raelle up, and all that had entailed. All that Abigail now knew that had entailed.

“Fuck, Scylla. Your best has been un-fucking real.” She shook her head. “So. You’re going to be a good parent, because when the going gets tough, you don’t run away. You buckle in, and down. You’ll be a good parent because this isn’t about you, and what you want. It’s about them: the ones that you love. It’s about what they need. And, clearly…you would do anything for them. _That’s_ who you are. 

“So. You will still feel these feelings, and you will go home and talk them over with Raelle,” her expression softened as Scylla opened her mouth to interject, “You don’t have to tell her what you told me. I won’t tell her, I swear. But she deserves to know your insecurities and misgivings, Scylla. She’s your co-parent. The mother of _your_ child.” She said pointedly.

Scylla swallowed, but nodded. Abigail was…right.

“And as soon as your kid is born, you will do anything for it, because that is the type of person you are: devoted, entirely, to your cause. And your cause, now, soon, is that baby.”

Scylla couldn’t hold back the tears, at that. Coming from Abigail, even being riddled with military jargon…it hit home. It was…the highest of compliments, the highest of praise. And, honestly…Abigail was right, and that was both elating and still, somehow, terrifying, and Scylla allowed herself to crumble, sinking to the ground, into an ungraceful heap, head bent, crying. 

She felt Abigail wrap an arm around her in an odd hug (the best she could get, given the way Scylla had fallen), and she found herself gripping onto one of Abigail’s arms as she cried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! P h e w, that was a hell of a ride, huh?? Congrats if you made it through that, anyone have something in their eye, like a twig or a branch or something...not me no siree...
> 
> Anyway, that was Scylla's sacrifice. I reckon at least some of you guessed it, but if you guessed it to that extent, you are a hell of a Seer (or a Knower?) and Fort Salem may want to know your location... 👀👀
> 
> That's it for the second chapter! It's the longest one in the fic, so it took a while to polish up. The next one is shorter but so, so wonderful, if I do say so myself. It shouldn't take too long to get up for you all! If you had a hell of an emotional journey, let me know in the comments. Kudos are also always appreciated, and as always, thank you for reading!


	3. The Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I'm back with the third and final chapter to this fic, where we finally get to see what truly made Scylla's sacrifice worth it. I don't want to sit here and say I outdid myself with this chapter, but genuinely, I personally think it just...makes this whole fic. Get ready for just...so much Soft. 
> 
> Enjoy:

The sight of Raelle when Abigial finally brought Scylla home nearly struck her dumb in the doorway to their bedroom. 

It was late. Scylla and Abigail had just…been there, on the ground outside of the bar, and any time someone even came close to approaching, Abigail had glowered at them until they thought better of approaching, and turned around and left. 

Lux, to his credit when he found them, did much the same thing with no need for an explanation. Scylla had made a mental note to have High Atlantic put her in contact with Lux later. She wanted to properly thank him, and give him a better Inguz blessing, which she knew would involve some research on her part, to learn what it actually involved. 

It’d be nice, as well, to have a new friend. And while they had Byron and Samuel at home, perhaps Lux would be a good person to get extra parenting tips from. Or someone to vent to. Likely, their partners would be having their babies at similar times, so perhaps she could use that friendly back up. 

Abigail had gathered her back up when Scylla was all cried out. They’d gone inside for a drink, that Scylla had knocked back in one go, letting herself enjoy the burning in her throat. Abigail had bought another round of shots: doubles, and Scylla was very pleasantly buzzed after the quick succession of drinks. 

Raelle was still awake, propped up by a myriad of pillows that had mostly been Byron’s purchases (“She’s carrying our child, Scylla, she needs all the comfort she can get!” had been his justification, not that Scylla’d needed any convincing. He was the one putting his whole paycheck – measly as it was, being a transition paycheck – into Raelle’s comfort.) She looked…contented. 

She was…glowing. Scylla briefly wondered if she would have looked like that, if their positions were switched. If it had been her, with their first child, like they’d thought it would be, at the beginning. 

Like everyone thought it would be. 

It’d been…an adjustment, for Scylla. Not just the infertility, but just…realizing that she’d suddenly been relegated to the role of caregiver. The “father” figure, loathsome as the term was. 

The jealousy had been a surprise. She hadn’t expected to feel jealous of her wife. To feel jealous of that life growing within her. She hadn’t expected the stab of hurt at realizing she had given any chance of having that – of having a baby in her womb – up. Permanently. Viscerally. 

It meant that, even by witch standards, Scylla was taking on the more “masculine” duties, along with Byron and Samuel. She was the one who wasn’t pregnant. She was the “protector”, now.

Not that Raelle needed her protection. Raelle’s power had always been palpable, but it was even stronger with their baby growing inside of her. Not to mention that their child was the combination of two potent bloodlines, and it was noticeable. 

A swell of pride rose in her chest, seeing Raelle like that. Laid back, relaxed. Satisfied. Taken care of. 

“You’re beautiful,” she said, unbidden, and Raelle looked at her, a huge smile spreading across her features. 

“You’re back late,” Raelle said, patting a spot next to her on the bed. 

Scylla didn’t enter, at first, eyes hungrily taking in her wife. Reclined as she was, her shirt hiked up to expose her belly to the cool air in the room…her pregnancy was all the more pronounced, and goddess, she really was just…ethereal. 

In that moment…in that quiet moment, just…taking Raelle in…it had all been worth it. All the pain. All the trauma that tugged at her when she was away from Raelle…it was worth it. Their child was in Raelle’s belly, and Scylla had suffered for it, but it was worth it. 

Raelle was worth it. 

And Abigail was right. Their daughter would be worth it, too. 

“Come on, Scyl, come cuddle. I miss you, and this one’s been kicking like crazy,” she nodded at her abdomen. 

Scylla finally stepped into the room, striding across it on somewhat unsteady feet before getting onto their bed, crawling up to Raelle on all fours and kissing her. 

She kept kissing her, testing the waters. Did Raelle want more? Was Scylla in a state to properly service her woman? Scylla was pretty sure she could, she was a little tipsy but not enough that it would affect her performance...

Raelle pulled away before Scylla could properly guess, laughing, “Ugh, you taste like disgustingly expensive cognac,”

Scylla looked into Raelle’s eyes, which reflected so much affection back at her that it had Scylla’s chest warming. Finding the answer to her question in the lack of action on Raelle’s part, Scylla settled into bed. Into Raelle, cuddling close, resting her head just below Raelle’s chin. Raelle’s hand was immediately in her hair, and Scylla reached out one hand, gently placing it on Raelle’s naked bump. 

The little one kicked, hard, right against Scylla’s palm, and Scylla stared, awed once more. 

That was her kid. She had helped put that inside of Raelle. 

Raelle laughed, the sound breathy in Scylla’s ear and sending a shiver down her spine. 

“You’re so cute when you get like that,”

“Like what?” Scylla asked, genuinely curious, turning slightly to try to catch Raelle’s eye. 

Raelle smiled at her, so much love in her expression that it took Scylla’s breath away. 

“Like you can’t believe it’s real,”

“I can’t,” she whispered, completely honest. 

“Was Abigail’s cousin just as shocked about the miracle of life as you are?”

Scylla exhaled, the sound nearly a breathy laugh. Nearly. 

“I don’t know. We, uh. Didn’t talk much,”

“No?”

“…no,” Scylla winced. 

“So what happened for the Ingut, then?”

Scylla chuckled, at that. “The Inguz?” she asked, and she could just feel Raelle rolling her eyes. 

“Whatever,”

“It’s a High Atlantic tradition, Collar. You, being a distinguished High Atlantic yourself, should know it,” she said, her voice playful yet stern.

“Shut up, you didn’t even want to go,” Raelle lightly pinched her arm. 

Which, well. Raelle had her there. 

Scylla sighed. How much did she divulge? How much did she say? 

They still had to talk. Abigail was right: her various insecurities about being a parent were something she had to speak with Raelle about. But…for one night, it wouldn’t hurt for her to just…bask in this moment. Bask in the goodness of her wife, and her child, in bed with her, peaceful in their warm little bubble. 

“Not much happened. Just some drinking, some talking. The Inguz was fine. Intense. Heavy.” Scylla bit her lip, wondering if she should say more. Finally, “…I told Abigail,” 

It was a whisper.

She felt Raelle stiffen. “…you told Abigail? About…?”

Scylla sighed, but nodded slightly, tucked into Raelle’s side as she was. “Yes. I…yes,”

She wasn’t sure what else to say, but Raelle wrapped her arms around Scylla and squeezed her tight, knowing it was a sensitive subject. 

“…how do you feel?” Raelle’s voice was tender. Soft. Like Scylla might break, at any moment.

Which…she wasn’t wrong. Scylla blinked back the tears. “I’m okay, Raelle. I think…I think I needed to get it out,”

“As long as you’re okay,”

Scylla bit her lip. 

“I will be.”

The baby kicked again, saving them from having to go down that possibly dark path, and both of them turned their attention to Raelle’s stomach. 

“You know,” Raelle murmured, turning her head and kissing the top of Scylla’s, “Despite what Abigail seems to think, I almost never kicked. Mama used to say I was such a quiet baby that sometimes she wondered what I was scheming all day long in her belly. Said she reckoned I was saving all that energy for the few times I did kick. Said I kicked something fierce, just not very often.”

Despite herself, Scylla laughed. She started moving her thumb, caressing Raelle’s belly, and Raelle sighed, content. 

The sound warmed every inch of Scylla, who gently whispered, “I was a kicker. Mom used to tell me I had the express goal of turning her insides to soup, and that I almost managed to do it, too. She thought I would be such a hellion when I was born. She said I used to scream like no one’s business unless they swathed me in this midnight blue blanket they had. Said that once, when moving to a new house, they had to put me down in the woods on a bed of moss and that I fell asleep immediately. She told me that she knew, then, that I was a child of the dirt. Necro. Rich earth like that teems with death and I took comfort in it, even as a baby,” Scylla sighed, “She said she understood, then, that I’d been in a hurry to be born, and that’s why I ran circles in her womb. I’d needed to be graced with that harmony in the ground. She said I could probably feel it calling to me, the call growing and growing as I did the same. And I couldn’t wait to take my place in the kingdom of life and death,” Scylla fell quiet, contemplating. “I think she was right.”

She blinked back the sudden tears. She’d cried a lot that night, and she didn’t necessarily want to cry anymore, but in the safety of Raelle’s arms…it wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

She couldn’t help but wonder…what her mother would think of her, now. Powerful. Barren. The – for all intents and purposes – father, of her and Raelle’s child. The young girl who had fallen from grace, only to claw her way back into it. To fight for it, tooth and nail. 

And to reach it. To find happiness after so long without it. To find light, even in the darkest parts of herself. She had come a long way, and she knew her parents would be proud, and she couldn’t help her quivering lip, knowing they would never get to meet their first grandchild. Or any of their possible, subsequent grandchildren.

Just one more thing that had been ripped away from Scylla. 

Still. They had Edwin, at least. He would spoil their little girl, of that, Scylla had little doubt. 

He was the only other person who knew they were having a girl. At Raelle’s last check-up, the Fixer had asked if they wanted to know the sex, and Raelle had refused, to Scylla’s surprise.

“I kind of like not knowing,” she said simply, with a shrug.

Despite herself…Scylla had wanted to know. It made it all the more…concrete. Real. Knowing that that…life, inside of her wife, was developing and taking shape and becoming…something. 

It still felt unreal to her, in so many ways. It still honestly blew her mind, every time she looked at Raelle. Every time it hit her that they were having a baby. That the baby was hers, and Raelle’s.

She’d cried in the hall outside of the appointment room when the Fixer had quietly congratulated her and told her it was a healthy, growing girl. 

A girl. A girl. They were having a girl, and she would grow up free from the horrors that her mothers had suffered, and Scylla hadn’t been able to stop crying as that reality rolled over her in waves.

She’d been quietly thrilled when Raelle had passed her the phone a few hours after the appointment and muttered “Pa wants to know the sex.” Scylla’d grabbed the phone and padded into another room and settled on the floor, whispering to Edwin that they were having a girl, and he’d gotten choked up, and fuck…it had been so nice to share that quiet excitement with him, Scylla crying again despite herself at Edwin’s genuine warmth and love and his own watery congratulations.

His quiet “Thank you” had been what broke her, though. He wasn’t thanking her for knocking up his daughter, nor for telling him that they were having a girl. The words were leaden with much more, a quiet acknowledgement of all that had been done to bring a young girl into a world where she would be free from it all. Conscription. The horrors of war in which she had no choice but to participate in, a murderer and a victim, damaged no matter what or who she was fighting for. 

A freedom neither his wife nor his daughter had known.

Scylla let the tears fall, caressing Raelle’s belly and the life within. 

“Mama said I wouldn’t stop squirming once I was born. Said clearly, I’d been saving all my energy for life. For being alive. For existing outside of her: my own person, my own being. My own life. Said it made sense that I waited until I could feel the sun on my face to realize what being alive meant. What movement meant. Said I didn’t stop, after that. But in the womb…not much. Said I hadn’t yet awoken,”

They fell into silence, Scylla gently stroking Raelle’s belly, the tears still gently falling. Another kick had her sucking in a breath. She felt so…stupid, almost, for how incredibly shocked she was every single time she felt that little life, already so active. 

Their daughter was in there…Their daughter. _Theirs_. 

It didn’t feel real, honestly. In those quiet moments…she forgot all the pain. All that had happened. She forgot the worst of it, because it had all been for a purpose. For this little bean. 

Scylla started to gently trace patterns into Raelle’s extended belly.

“It’s a Ramshorn,” Raelle told her, turning so that the words were mumbled into Scylla’s hair.

Scylla huffed out a small laugh, before she sighed, shutting her eyes. 

“It’s a Ramshorn-Collar,” she corrected, and Raelle chuckled, her chest moving with the sound. 

“I bet this one’s gonna look just like you,” Raelle murmured, returning to stroking Scylla’s hair. “Bet you were a cute kid,”

Scylla didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t have any pictures of herself as a baby. She’d seen Raelle’s baby pictures, though. She was a little ball of light, even then. With a huge grin, teeth too big for her mouth, even with several missing. With wide, curious eyes, taking in the world around her. Taking it all in. 

Full of life, indeed. 

Even in the photos, Scylla could see that. That reverence for life as it bloomed around her. Scylla could only hope their daughter had that, too. Had that Collar fire. 

And if she did end up looking just like Scylla had, when she was young?

“I guess we’ll find out,” Scylla said quietly, and they settled into silence, Scylla stroking Raelle’s growing belly, Raelle still running her fingers lovingly through Scylla’s hair. 

Scylla shut her eyes, soaking in the moment. This. This was bliss. 

This had been what she had been fighting for, her entire life. 

Her family.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🥺🥺🥺
> 
> (I feel like I need to quietly whisper to not disturb their quiet moment, so I'ma put the final notes here in parentheses, but I hope that you guys enjoyed this absolute softness of a chapter. Scylla finally has her a family. She had a price to pay for it,  
>  but they'll all be okay. If you enjoyed this lil' journey with me, you know what to do. As always, thank you for reading, it's so, so appreciated.)


End file.
